ReFreeze
by pricecheckgreen
Summary: Welcome to the new Gotham, Mr. Freeze. For all intents and purposes it's the same as the old. Sorry.


**I don't own any of the characters, concepts, or settings of the Batman franchise. That would be DC.**

**Takes place during and after Meltdown.**

* * *

It was strange how quickly he was getting used to this new life. His body—or at least the duplicate of it he now inhabited—had adjusted fine to the changes, and after a bit of general uneasiness about walking the streets and interacting with others like a civilian again, his nerves had too. Victor almost wanted to stop and just_ stare_, at the buildings that practically towered into the clouds, the people with their strange, tight clothes that he had somehow found himself also wearing, the lack of newspapers around every corner and the total absence of factory smog. There was even a new _Batman_ patrolling the streets with the same amount of streamlining, effectively proving that vigilantism was as inherent in the city's crime fighting system as super criminals were to its crime. It didn't feel like Gotham. It was too...bright.

He felt himself being pulled along by his…companion, again, and his thoughts drifted to Nora. She'd liked to drag him to various things too, especially when they were dating, but with her it had been more in glowing enthusiasm that she'd wanted to share with him. With Stephanie it was more to keep him away from whatever it was that had attracted his attention.

It wasn't fair that he kept comparing them in his head. Dr. Lake was always going to look shallow compared to his Nora. Everything in life did, and it wasn't healthy. It wasn't a good way to start his second chance, thinking back to the old one that he'd ruined so badly, with memories warped by time and nostalgia.

And it wasn't like she didn't have some good features. Her interests were much closer to his own, for one. There was only so far a conversation about his work could go with Nora before he gradually lost her at the higher level subjects (though her enthusiasm to learn often made up for it), and while he had come to love winter and dancing through her eyes it had still been saddening that she had such a difficult time bringing herself to enjoy swimming and summer as he did. Stephanie complained about the cold and spoke knowingly about higher level cryogenics and gene structure. She had even suggested dancing one or twice, but he suspected that the future Gotham's idea of dancing was…different than what he'd had to learn (with difficulty) from Nora. He supposed that she was also fairly attractive if that counted for anything...even if she didn't have the same warmth that radiated from his wife's face when she laughed.

Former. _Late-_wife.

It occurred to him that this is what Nora had meant when she told him how intimidating he'd been initially because he never smiled. He could never tell where he stood with Stephanie, who didn't...glare, exactly, but always had the same sort of cold, vaguely apathetic expression on her face. Every so often the corners of her mouth would perk up, as if she meant to reassure him, but it never reached her eyes and the effect was somewhat unsettling.

No, he was being unfair again.

The wind picked up a little and he shivered, shuffling his chin beneath the collar of his jacket. He almost wished he was back to being incapable of feeling cold. He'd forgotten how much he hated the sensation.

She respected him. That was good. She cared enough to give him this new life, and to make sure he was adjusting well. Right? She had already done so much for him, and insisted that she didn't need anything in return—she just thought he deserved a second chance. He glanced over at her and tried to feel positive. It just felt strange because he didn't really know her yet. That was all.

"Victor."

The feeling that this was all going to come crashing down on him soon would pass. "Yes?"

Dr. Lake inclined her head towards their right. "This way."

He obediently followed her. Hopefully, wherever she led him, it would be somewhere better than the cold abyss he'd fallen into years before. And maybe the guilt that settled in his stomach when he thought of Nora would be gone when they got there.

* * *

When he regained consciousness, he knew nothing except that his face was burning and he wasn't dead. He fired a blast of cold from the ice gun he'd installed into the arm of his suit and let it wash over his cracked helmet. Then he passed out again.

A few days went by that way, shooting coolant into his face every time the heat broke in. He couldn't remember what he'd been doing. Certainly a few days ago he'd been obsessing over the best way to kill himself without arms and legs, but here they were. Not just a mechanical body—he could genuinely feel his limbs under the armor, every bit as sore as the rest of his him. Maybe he'd dreamed those years. Yes, of course. Nora was still alive somewhere and he'd fallen into this dark hole after an encounter with Batman.

That, he decided, is what happened.

The third day he remembered the sound of a lady screaming as he shot spikes of ice through her. Her name escaped him, but the familiar empty feeling crept into his chest when he thought of her fearful face. _She said his name. It almost gave him pause, to hear how cleverly her voice could be crafted to elicit sympathy, to refer to him by name as if to imply that she thought of him as anything but the monster that stood before her._ _**Freeze.**_

An hour went by with him puzzling over the significance of this, before awareness escaped him while he fed on the ice vapors of his almost empty wrist.

A day after that, while he no longer had anything to freeze over his skull with, the temperature had dropped considerably. It was possible the weather had changed. Nonetheless, it was still uncomfortable, particularly to his addled, damaged brain, and he struggled to his feet. His footsteps sounded distorted and demonic, probably a result of damaged speakers in the suit in conjunction with the echoes of the cavern. He had no idea where he was going because he still couldn't remember where he'd been, but he often found that if you walked long enough you were bound to end up somewhere. His mental autopilot kicked in, directing him away from warm drafts and toward cold ones. The air was so dark that he felt blind for quite a while, and it wasn't until he came upon a slightly glowing pool of water that he knew for sure his eyes were open. The soft light was red under his goggles.

It would be easier to find his way if he could feel any sort of breeze on his skin, but it was much too warm for that. It was almost too warm even with the suit, and its failing cooling system. If he didn't get to someplace below zero soon he would melt.

Funny, it didn't have the same sense of urgency that it had before when there was still Nora unconscious in her cryotank to think about.

Nonetheless, even for a death seeker the will to live is persistent, and he stumbled forward through the craggy rocks, brief traces of light still creeping into his vision every few steps.

He walked for days. Or what _felt_ like days, more likely hours, impossible to gauge without any view of the sky or a timepiece (and his utter lack of circadian rhythm). It was entirely the suit's doing. If he were capable of emotion, he would be dominated by the concern for how badly he'd been injured—he had never suffered damage like this before, to the point where he couldn't keep together a coherent thought, and he barely remembered his own name.

The thought of Nora was the only thing he could hold with any clarity, but her face brought on vague feelings of guilt and pain. He tried looking outward towards the brightening air and choked on how warm it was still. Certainly this was the kind of season where people would start wearing their coats for a chilly fall, and yet he could barely breathe.

Why did it remind him of boiling under hot studio lights?

Nora, Nora, Nora…

Nora was dead.

Victor slipped, helmet cracking and breaking on stone wall and fingers burning against the cool surface.

She'd been dead for years.

He dragged himself back up, staggered and sprinted forward and came out somewhere in the face of the sun, impossibly tall architecture and the hum of a living, streamlined city.

For a horrifying moment he thought he'd killed her himself, that the image in his head of the woman he'd frozen was _her_, but then he remembered Stephanie Lake.

Listening to her, just another scientist with something to prove, talk about second chances and things he didn't deserve. The good doctor helping him while he relearned his motor skills, catching him when he stumbled; reminding him what it felt like to come into contact with someone else. Walking with her through the streets of a new Gotham, somehow finding her hand intertwined with his. Shying away from her when she pressed her lips to his cheek, but failing to object. Stephanie, promising him that he could do good, that his life mattered, that things didn't _have _to revolve around his failures _or _Nora. Dear Dr. Lake telling him that it would be okay, that she wouldn't give up on him and they could _fix this_ because he was worth it. Stephanie with the uncaring, cruel stare turning the temperature to a lukewarm 70 degrees Fahrenheit while he begged to live and asked her _why_.

He remembered pausing for just a moment that day he snapped when she backed away from his upgraded weaponry, thinking perhaps he wanted to hear her excuses, or that maybe she really _did_ care, but as he read the unreasoning fear in her eyes he knew he just wanted her dead.

"Foolish…" he gasped, the somewhat moist air entering his lungs starting to precipitate, "I was a fool to think anybody could care for me but _you_, my love…"


End file.
